Bedeviled
by Cerridwen7777
Summary: In which something, or someone, is trying to possess Dean...rated for language and gore.
1. Chapter 1

**Back to basics...tormenting the boys. Takes place early to mid-season 4, well before the events of Lucifer Rising. Please review, then head to my website to review my review of your review. :)**

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_The mouth gapes wide as ever to let pass its evil saying_

_Dante, Canto XXX_

Sam's eyes traveled across the page, but he wasn't taking in the words. He'd read the same sentence about five times and none of it had sunk in. Something was gnawing at the back of his mind, setting his nerves on edge. His adrenaline was peaking and ebbing, and several times he had to take a deep breath to slow his heart. With a sigh, he snapped the book shut and flipped it into the back seat.

Dean was staring at the road, eyes glazed, and it was clear that his mind was elsewhere. He was sporting a healing shiner, a gift from a feisty young bartender who responded to his come-ons with a fierce right hook. Not that it deterred Dean, who ended up taking the girl home anyway. But Dean had been quiet all day, glassy-eyed and clumsy in his movements. Sam chalked it up to a whiskey hangover, or just plain lack of sleep. He nudged his brother in the ribs with his elbow. "You want me to drive for a while?"

Dean gave a little shake of his head, as though waking from a dream. "Huh?"

"You don't look so good. You want me to drive?" Rather than brushing off Sam's offer, Dean pulled to the side of the road. Sam furrowed his eyebrows. _Not a good sign. _Dean wasn't one to relinquish control of his steel-and-glass baby without a fight.

Dean stepped out of the car, shrugging deeper into his leather coat against the bite of the fall breeze. Sam unfolded himself from the passenger seat and joined his brother leaning on the bumper of the Impala. Out of the corner of his eye he scanned his brother's face. Dean was pale and wan looking. He just looked bone-weary. Sam spoke quietly, like a hunter trying not to spook his prey. "What's up?"

Dean shivered inside his coat. He was silent for a long moment, and then shook his head. "Don't know." His voice was low, nearly inaudible. "Something's wrong."

A cold fist twisted in Sam's stomach. "What do you mean? What is it?"

"I don't know. I just feel like…" Dean stopped, his face blanching white. "I feel like something is here…it's trying…" He brushed his palm across his eyes and fell silent.

"What is it trying to do?" Sam's pulse rate jumped and he instinctively scanned the area, alert for movement, for danger. But his eyes flew back to his brother as Dean spoke, his voice strained and strangled.

"It's trying to get inside me…" Dean gagged and dropped to one knee, his hands fluttering up to his throat.

"What the hell?" Sam bent and grabbed Dean's elbow, trying to lift him back to his feet, but it suddenly seemed like his brother weighed a hundred pounds more than he should have. "Dean…Dean, what's happening?"

Dean gasped, his lips moving soundlessly. Sam leaned closer, clutching Dean's shoulder. Dean was huffing in a breathy whisper. "Saint Michael the Archangel, defend…us in battle…"

Now truly frightened, Sam joined in. "Be our protection against the malice and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him we humbly pray; and do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls. Amen." Dean's lips continued to move, but Sam could not hear his voice, only chesty rattling breaths.

Sam tried again to lift Dean, but Dean was dead weight, a sack of bricks, and Sam wasn't able to pick him up. "Hang on, Dean," barked Sam, and ran to snatch the keys from the ignition of the Impala. He popped the trunk and grabbed a flask of holy water from a mesh pocket. He sloshed some into his palm and dropped back down next to Dean. He began to recite the prayer again while making the sign of the cross on Dean's forehead with his wet fingertips.

With hands trembling, Dean clumsily grabbed the flask from Sam and brought it to his mouth. Most of the water splashed down his chin, but as soon as he got enough to swallow, his whole body gave a convulsive heave and he began to shudder. Sam grabbed him and pulled him against his chest, clutching Dean with all his strength.

With one last powerful convulsion, Dean collapsed back into Sam's arms, completely still. A trickle of blood welled in his nose and dripped down to streak his chin. Sam wiped the blood away with his thumb. His own hands were shaking with fear and adrenaline. "Christ, dude," he gasped. "What the hell was that?"

Dean didn't answer, just rolled onto his hip and puked copiously. Sam's stomach clenched, because the vomit was black as tar, thick and viscous. "Jesus," he breathed, his heart hammering.

"This…s'is bad, dude," slurred Dean. "Somethins wrong…" He coughed and spit out another mouthful of foul tarry vomit. "Really wrong…"

"We're getting you to Bobby." Sam forced iron into his voice and looped his shoulder under Dean's armpits. He heaved up, expecting to heft Dean's full weight, but his brother came up with little effort, as though he had dropped 100 pounds in the last two minutes. He dropped Dean to a seat in the passenger side and dashed to the driver's side. "Hang on, bro."

He slammed the car into drive and floored the accelerator, fishtailing back onto the road. The engine purred as he roared back the way they had come, back toward Kaydee, Montana. "Hold on, Dean. Just hang tight." Sam flipped open the glove compartment and snatched out a rosary. He threaded it into Dean's lax fingers. "Come on, say it again. Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle…" Dean didn't speak, but his lips moved along with the words. His eyes were closed and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead like pearls.

"Thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls…"


	2. Chapter 2

**Oh, my kiddies, I am soooo weary from yardwork, yet I forced myself to finish this instead of napping. Reward me with reviews!!! :)**

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Sam skidded to a halt in the parking lot of the motel, sending gravel flying against the tin Vacancy sign that rocked on rusty springs in the tree lawn. He bolted from the car, stumbling and crashing to one knee. His jeans tore and blood bubbled from a gash his shin, but he ignored it and dashed to the door of room 413. "Bobby!" he screamed, slamming his fist against the door. He ignored the startled stare of the maid who was sitting on the curb with a Black and Mild dangling from her lips. "Bobby!"

The door crashed open and Bobby dashed out, eyes bleary with sleep. His jeans were unbuttoned and his shirttail was flapping behind him. "What the hell?" he growled, his hands doubling into fists as he scanned the parking lot for danger. The maid shrugged at him and took another pull on her cigarillo.

Sam turned on his heels and ran back to the car. "It's Dean!" He yanked open the passenger side door and grabbed Dean by the shoulders.

"Christ, Sam, you're makin' a scene," grunted Dean. "Fuckin' Chicken Little, dude, shut the fuck up…" Sam cupped his hand under Dean's elbow, but Dean slapped him away. "And stop pawing at me."

Bobby joined Sam at Dean's side. "Can you walk, boy?" Dean summoned enough strength to swing his legs out of the car, but when he tried to stand, his knees buckled and he thumped back to a seat with a groan. "Come on, let's get you inside." Bobby hooked his hand under Dean's arm and pulled him up, hitching him against his hip and helping him walk back to the room.

"Ya'll need some help?" The maid didn't get up, just pressed her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun. Sam just forced a tightlipped smile and shook his head, gave her a wiggly-fingered wave, and then hurried after Bobby and Dean.

Bobby half-carried Dean into the room and dropped him to a seat on one of the twin beds. A cot was jammed in the corner, which Dean had won rights to by losing at Rock Scissors Paper. "You wanna tell me what the hell's goin' on here? Why's your brother havin' kittens now?" he asked gruffly.

Sam slammed the door with a little more force than necessary and immediately began pouring salt lines across the door and windowsills. "Something tried to possess Dean, that's why I'm having kittens," he spat. "And it would have, if I hadn't been there."

"Don't give yourself too much credit there, Sammy," snarked Dean, but his voice was weak and rasping. He dragged his forearm across his mouth, grimacing at the foul taste of puke that still coated his teeth. His black eye marked livid contrast to the bloodless pale sheen of his face.

"Shut up, the both of ya. Arguin' is wastin' time," barked Bobby, and then turned to Sam. "Start talkin'."

"He's been quiet all day, I just figured he was hung over. But then he said that something was wrong, that something was trying to get inside him. He went down…" Sam stopped, suppressing a shudder. "It finally stopped when he drank some holy water."

"But how? What about his tattoo?" Bobby turned to Dean and hooked his finger in the collar of Dean's t-shirt, yanking it down to expose Dean's collarbone. "Holy shit." Dean's tattoo was raised in angry, welting burns. The skin around it was blackened and blistering. He winced as Bobby brushed it lightly with his finger.

"What could do that?" breathed Sam.

"Nothin' that I know of." Bobby's face was set in a line-filled mask of worry. "Did it say anything? What did you feel, son?"

Dean slowly scratched at an eyebrow with his thumb. "All day I'd been feeling…I don't know. Just like something was coming, something bad. And when we stopped on the side of the road I felt it come closer, and then it tried to force its way into me." He shivered involuntarily. "It was dirty. Vile. And pissed."

"Did it say anything?" Sam pulled a flask of holy water out of his duffel bag and began tracing sigils on the door. "Give you any idea of who or what it was?" He stopped, closing his eyes to wrack his memory for the correct signs to write.

"No. It didn't say a word." Dean's hand drifted to his now-crispy tattoo. "It just…just wanted in." His fingertips fluttered against the burnt skin. "I'm thirsty."

"And you've never felt anything like it before?" Bobby snatched a bottle of water from the top of the television and handed it to Dean. Dean took a deep swig of it before shaking his head. He wouldn't meet Bobby's gaze, just took another long drink. Bobby glanced at Sam, then back at Dean. "You'd best go clean yourself up. You smell like a bar toilet." Bobby gestured at the vomit drying on Dean's shirt.

Dean nodded and stripped off his t-shirt, balling it and chucking it into the wastebasket, which was overflowing the take-out containers and beer bottles. He staggered to his feet, brushing away Sam's offered hand, and shuffled into the bathroom, bouncing unsteadily off the doorjamb. As soon as Dean shut the door, Bobby turned to Sam with serious eyes.

"He's lying."

"What?" Sam looked toward the bathroom door, at the lines of light shining through the cracks in the wood.

"He _has _felt this before. He doesn't want to tell us what it is." Bobby's mouth tightened into a hard line. "He's hiding something."

"Why? Why would he do that?" Sam didn't want to admit that he wasn't as sure as Bobby. After all, Dean was _his _brother, _his _partner. How could Bobby read Dean better? "I've never seen anything like it, and he's never _talked_ about anything like it."

"I don't know, boy. But my gut don't like this." Bobby scratched his beard. "I'm gonna go make some calls. See if I can sniff out what we're lookin' at here." He looked at Sam with serious eyes. "You keep an eye on Dean. I don't think this is over."

"Why wouldn't he tell us if he knows what this is?"

"We can't know what happened to Dean in the Pit. If he does know, he may not want to say, 'cause it's too much for him to deal with himself." Bobby shook his head sadly. "That boy's seen more horrors than any man should have strength to live through. I hope this ain't one more."

Sam's jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. "When is this gonna stop?" He wasn't so much talking to Bobby as to himself, and he had to take a breath to push back the anger that pulsed in his chest. He wasn't about to let Bobby see the eye-popping Hulk routine that lurked inside him what seemed like all the time now. "So what do we do?"

"We research. And prayin's probably a good plan too." Bobby picked up his trucker cap and settled it atop his mussed hair. "Keep an eye on your brother. Don't let him out of your sight." He grabbed his car keys and jammed them into his jeans. "Be careful, boy."

Sam nodded as Bobby stepped over the salt line and closed the door behind him. He could hear the shower running, so he settled to a seat on the edge of the bed and stared at his hands. _God, I hate this. _He flipped on the television and stared at Pat Sajak, mind racing. He didn't hear Dean fall over the applause.


	3. Chapter 3

**I've been distracted by Jon and Kate Plus 8 today. What does that say about my social life? At least Vodka is my friend. Ugh. Please review.**

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Sam fired up his trusty laptop, which Dean had once named "Tonto", intent on searching the deepest crevices of Internet caves for answers about what was happening to his brother. He nipped absentmindedly at a bottle of El Sol while he researched, welcoming the slow buzz of alcohol on his brain. He was fully aware that he'd have to hide the bottle or Dean would whine endlessly about the fact that Sam didn't even appreciate the true bliss of El Sol, and why didn't he just drink PBR and leave the good stuff to the professionals, and on and on and on.

Sam knuckled at his eyes, which ached from the blue glow of the computer screen. He was bringing the beer up to his lips when the sound of the shower running suddenly registered in the back of his brain. His eyes snapped open as he realized that Dean had been in the shower for a hell of a long time, which was not unusual in and of itself, but it had been a fucking _hour_, _oh my God, what the hell?_

Sam jumped to his feet, sending his chair crashing backward to the floor and his beer bottle flying, and dashed to the bathroom door, hitting it full force with his shoulder. It banged open, rebounding against the wall and bashing him in the side, but he ripped open the shower curtain, shouting, "Dean!"

Dean was curled on the stained porcelain of the tub, the now-freezing shower water beating down on him. He was clutching his chest, fingers clawing weakly at his tattoo. Ignoring Dean's nakedness, Sam quickly turned off the water and knelt at the side of the tub, pulling his brother up to a seated position. Dean's head lolled backward and thumped against Sam's shoulder. His skin was cold as ice. "Jesus," breathed Sam.

Dean's hair was plastered against his skull and his face was pale as death. His lips were blue with cold and his teeth were chattering. "Where were you?" he mumbled. A violent shiver made him tremble against Sam.

"Jesus, Dean, I'm so sorry…" Sam snatched a threadbare towel from the bar on the wall and draped it over Dean's chest. "I was on the computer and totally wasn't paying attention." He scrubbed another towel over Dean's soaked hair, standing it all on end. "What the hell happened?"

"It came…back…" Dean shuddered again. He tried to push himself to his feet but barely moved an inch before dropping back to a seat in the tub. "Get me up," he ordered weakly. Sam gently grabbed Dean under the arms and lifted him up, snaking a shoulder under Dean's armpit. Dean leaned against him and managed to step out of the tub.

Sam walked him out of the bathroom and gently deposited him on the bed nearest the wall heater. He grabbed the comforter from the other bed and piled it on top of Dean, then cranked the heater to its highest setting. He then sat on the edge of the bed and dropped his head into his hands, feeling the hot air wash around him like a summer wind. "What the hell is going on?" he murmured, his chest tight with anxiety. Suddenly remembering Bobby's earlier words, he turned to Dean and put on a serious face. "If you know what this is, Dean, you have to tell me. This isn't the time for the strong and silent routine. Spill it."

Dean shut his eyes, his lashes fringing his cheekbones. He slowly ran his tongue across his lower lip, as though in contemplation, and then shivered, though less violently than before. "It's Baal." He didn't open his eyes as he spoke, as if he was trying to hide from the words he was speaking. He fisted a handful of the purple paisley comforter, his knuckles turning white with the strength of his grip. "Big Bad, Sam. Very Big Bad."

The hair on the back of Sam's neck prickled. He knew the name, knew that Dean was very right about it being Big Bad, but the details eluded him. "How do you know?"

"Let's just say that we got acquainted downstairs. Then when I threw up back there…those were ashes that I yacked." Dean rolled his head against the pillow, trying to burrow deeper beneath the comforters.

"What does that mean?"

"Look it up, Boy Genius." Dean closed his eyes and the corners of his mouth trembled. He looked completely spent. "I'm so sick of this," he whispered, more to himself than to Sam. "I'm never going to be free again…"

Tears pricked at the back of Sam's eyes, but they were born more of rage than of sadness. _This fucking life…too many fucking sacrifices…_ "We'll deal with it, Dean. I'm not going to let this happen." He clenched his jaw. "We'll find some way to send this sunovabitch back down." He looked down at Dean, only to find that his brother was asleep, his legs pulled upward toward him in a gangly attempt at the fetal position. The covers were wrapped tightly around him like a blanket burrito.

Sam closed his eyes, taking a breath to steel his nerves. _Well, at least now I know. If I know what it is, I can kill it._ He stood, took a long look at Dean, then snatched up his cell phone and stepped over the salt line to the sidewalk outside. He thumbed in Bobby's number. "Bobby."

"_Everything okay?"_

"I know what it is." Sam rubbed his temples with his thumbs. "Dean collapsed, but I finally got him to spill it. He says that it's Baal."

"_Jesus, Mary, and Joseph." _The shock was evident in Bobby's voice. _"How does he know? Is he sure?"_

"He said he met him in Hell." The words were bitter in Sam's mouth. "And he said that when he threw up, he threw up ashes. What does that mean?"

Bobby sighed over the line. _"Lore says that Baal carries ashes in his pocket. Sort of a long story. I'll just say that he's pretty high up the food chain down below. Real high up. I'm gonna have to make some calls, talk to some folks who've studied them things better than me. Hang tight, and keep a good eye on him. That boy is in some serious trouble. Not like that's a new situation."_

"Okay. Hurry back, Bobby. I think I'm gonna need your help here." Sam flipped his phone shut and stood stock still for a long moment, then turned and planted a solid kick against the curb. His toe screamed in protest but he welcomed the pain, was glad for its clarity and its immediacy. Pain has a way of zeroing thing in, a way of blocking out all the peripheral distractions, and he had a nagging feeling that he was going to need all the help he could get. He opened his phone and dialed again. "Ruby?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Perhaps Vodka is NOT my friend. Hangovers are bad for the muse. Please review, with encouragement for sobriety.**

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Dean woke to the sound of rain tapping at the windows of the room, a steady drumbeat on the glass. His chest was tight, like a 200 pound woman was sitting on his chest, not that he would know what that felt like. He groaned softly, sending a stab of pain through his throat, which was still raw from puking and from the burn of holy water. _Just another day in the life of Dean Winchester. _He rolled slowly to the side and put his feet on the floor, trying to breathe through the spinning in his head. _Hangovers got nothing on this, baby._

Sam was sacked out in the ratty chair by the television, his legs sprawled crazily. His laptop hummed away on the table beside him, the grotesque face of a demon filling the screen. Dean winced and stood, stepping over his scattered clothes to look at the computer. It was a demonology research page, chock full of incorrect information about the demon who was currently vying for the steering wheel of Dean's soul. He shook his head. _Those fucking nerds have no clue. _

He then noticed the shattered remains of a beer bottle, _his _beer, on the floor. He narrowed his eyes at his sleeping brother, making a mental note that a lecture was in order about the sanctity of a man's favorite beer. He sat back down on the bed and slid on a clean pair of boxers and a not-so-clean pair of jeans. As he slipped a t-shirt over his head, the fabric brushed his burned tattoo and he had to bite back a yelp. Sam didn't stir.

Dean grabbed his coat and a handful of cash from the battered dresser-top, and jammed the money into his pocket. His now-empty stomach gave a rolling growl and he snatched up another handful of bills. _No point skimpin' now, no girlish figure to maintain._

He stepped out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him as quietly as he could. A drop of rain hit him smack dead in the center of his skull, and rolled down his forehead to the tip of his nose. He shivered, still feeling bone-cold from his overlong shower. Thankfully, he had a good idea of how to remedy that, so he limped across the street to the grungy dive bar that had been calling his name for days.

As soon as he opened the door, every head turned to glare at him, as though the fresh air that followed him in was tainting the smoke-and-beer ambiance that they had worked so hard to establish. He pulled the heavy oak door shut behind him and, satisfied that order had been restored, the regulars returned their attention to the refreshments at hand.

The lazy-eyed bartender regarded Dean with suspicion as he slid to a seat at the end of the bar. _Farthest from the door, in the corner, where nobody can sneak up on you._ _Wonder how many other kids knew that by the time they were 8 years old? Though hell, if I had a lazy eye I could keep watch in two directions. _Dean gave a little shake of his head as the bartender slid a dented tin bowl of ancient-looking pretzels in front of him. "Don't suppose you've got El Sol?" asked Dean, and was not shocked when the bartender smirked and shook his head. Dean sighed. "Johnny Walker, and a Heineken." He threw a fifty on the bar. "Keep them comin'."

At the sight of the large bill, Lazy-Eye leapt into newly heartened action. As he plied his wares, Dean turned to look over the clientele of the bar. They were mostly a motley mix of hard-knock boozers and younger blue-collar types in after a long day at whatever constituted an honest living in this town. One of them, a grizzled man with a cloudy eye, was trying to wake his drinking buddy, who was passed out facedown on his chipped Formica table. _There but for the grace of God and the vengeance of John Winchester go I. _

Dean turned back and downed his first shot, grimacing at the burn in his raw throat. His empty stomach rolled in protest, so he munched a stale pretzel, but the thought of real food made him nauseous. _No more ashy puking for me, thanks._ But for the time being, alcohol and a nice buzz was priority one.

Luckily, the bartender apparently hoped to earn another easy fifty, because he vigilantly kept Dean's glasses filled to brimming. He even broke out a fresh bag of pretzels, chucking the old ones onto the floor under the bar for the next shift to clean up.

Dean's buzz was coming along nicely, dimming the memories of being violated by a filthy evil sunofabitch, when the door came crashing open. Dean turned with the rest of the drinkers, squinting as a rush of rain-scented air washed over him. In the door there was silhouetted a flannel-clad, trucker-hatted mountain man. Dean groaned and downed another shot, gesturing for Lazy-Eye to quickly refill it. _Shit. There goes my buzz. _

Bobby let the door drift shut behind him and clumped up next to Dean. He hooked a stool with his toe and dropped to a seat. "I'll have what he's havin'," he advised the bartender gruffly. Lazy-Eye glanced at Dean, now protective of his lucrative client, but Dean shrugged, so a shot and a beer appeared promptly at Bobby's elbow. "Your brother know you're here?" Dean chomped a pretzel and shook his head silently. "You know how he gets when you go missin', boy."

Dean sighed. "Yeah, yeah." He took a swig of his beer. "Just wanted a few minutes without him pawing at me or giving me the puppy eyes."

Bobby sipped at his whiskey, then studied the chipped shot glass. "He told me what's goin' on with you. What's chasin' you."

Dean rolled his eyes, then hissed in a short breath when his tattoo twinged. "There's a shocker. He's good at keeping his own secrets, but shitty at keeping everybody else's." His voice was bitter. He shook his head, taking another mouthful of beer and swishing it around his molars. "Just one more monster in a fucking long line of monsters."

"I don't have to tell you how bad this one is, though, boy. You gotta get yourself together for this fight, and drownin' in a bottle is no way to do it. Takes ya outta control, makes ya vulnerable."

"Don't lecture me, Bobby." Dean flicked a broken pretzel, sending it caroming off the bottles that backed the bar. "I'm not new on the job."

"So what is it, then?" Bobby picked up a pretzel of his own, absently picking off the specks of salt and dropping them on the bar. "Ain't like you to run from a fight."

"Why bother running, Bobby?" Dean gripped his beer so tightly he thought the bottle might shatter in his fist. "Up here I spend my life running and fighting, bleeding and killing. It used to be that I knew if I died, at least I could rest. But now I know that this is never gonna end for me. I'll run and I'll fight, and then I'll die, and I'll go back down. I just don't see the point anymore."

Bobby stayed silent, staring down into his beer. "I can't answer that, son. All I can say is that you know who you are, and you know the right thing to do." He looked over and waited until Dean met his gaze. "And the Dean Winchester I know don't give up."

Dean looked away. "That's the problem, Bobby. I don't know if the Dean Winchester you know even exists anymore." He stood, threw a twenty on the bar, and walked silently out into the rain.


	5. Chapter 5

**On we go...I know this is a short chapter, but it is a transition toward what is coming. Please review...it makes me update faster. ;) And no, I don't own the boys. Were but that it were true.**

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Dean jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, kicking at stones as he stared down at the sidewalk. His boozy buzz was fading, leaving him light-headed and fluttery-stomached. As he shuffled aimlessly along, he hoped against hope that Bobby had sense enough not to follow him. He didn't think he had enough patience for another heart-to-heart, and he certainly didn't need another lecture. The rain beat down on his skull, sculpting his hair to his forehead. A tickle of water ran into his ear and he shook his head, but regretted it immediately as a wave of nausea rolled over him.

He spotted a small covered pavilion at the far end of the block and made for it, his head bowed under the onslaught of the rain. He picked up his pace to a slow jog, ignoring his protesting stomach, until he finally ducked beneath the low overhang of the roof. He dropped to a seat on a wrought iron bench, feeling the cool of the metal seep through the seat of his jeans. A curtain of water poured from all corners of the pavilion, effectively hiding him from the street. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and listened to the rain tip tap on the tin roof and tried to breathe through his nausea. The smell of lavender came to him on the wind.

_You know you can't win._

Dean's eyes snapped open and his breath caught in his throat. Dread gripped his stomach like ice. He knew that voice. He knew it, and it filled him with horror.

_You're not strong enough. _

His scorched tattoo suddenly stabbed him with agony, drawing a gasp from his lungs. He clutched at his chest, fingers digging into the muscle as if he was trying to snatch and pull out the pain.

_You're afraid. You're afraid because you know it's only a matter of time._

He recognized the fear pounding in his throat. It was complete, total, and perfect. It was the fear he felt every second of every minute of every day for his first thirty years in hell. He took a few steps forward, tripping over his own feet, then stumbled to his knees.

_Stop running from it._

The pain in Dean's chest doubled and he retched, a flood of booze and stomach acid spewing suddenly from his throat. He tore at his shirt, ripping the fabric and clawing at his skin, trying to tear away the agony. "Fuck you," he choked, a grume of puke and blood dripping from his chin.

_Embrace it._

The pain crashed over him, stopping his breath, and he scrabbled at the pavement, shredding his fingernails and bloodying his knuckles. He tried to crawl back toward the street, hoping desperately that someone would see him, help him.

_Become what you were meant to be._

Darkness was swirling in from the sides of his vision, narrowing into a pinpoint until all he could see was his own bloody hands. Suddenly he wasn't sure if it was his own blood, or the blood of his victims, and despair threatened to suffocate him. "Sam," he gasped, more a whisper than a call.

_Give in. Give up. Come home._


	6. Chapter 6

**Yeesh, got completely distracted by Ernie Reyes Jr. Sorry about that. Please don't let my delay in updating stop you from reviewing. Reviews make me update more quickly, wink wink.**

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Sam woke to a bone-jarring crash of thunder. He jolted to his feet, glaring wildly around the room, adrenaline surging. _Fight or flight is a bitch. _He took a long breath, forcing his heart rate to drop, stilling the jangle of his nerves. Knuckling sleep-sand from his eyes, he glanced around the room, which was now dimly lit in the low light of a rainy dusk. Nothing looked to be awry, except for the small fact that Dean wasn't there. Sam's heart jumped into his throat and he ran to the door, wrenching it open and dashing out onto the sidewalk.

The Impala was still parked on a crazy angle, where Sam had screeched to a halt in a panic only a day before. He looked wildly up and down the street, hoping to see Dean slouching his way back toward the motel, but the sidewalks were deserted. The only movement was the rain splashing down on the concrete. A flash of lightning split the sky and another roll of thunder rumbled. Sam dug into his pocket and snatched out his cell phone, thumb-dialing Dean on speed dial, but it rang and rang before going to voicemail. At a loss for what else to do, Sam plied his voice against the rising wall of wind, yelling his brother's name. "Dean!"

The door of the dive-bar across the street banged open and Bobby came jogging out, his hand pressed against the small of his back, where Sam knew he carried a small five-shot revolver. "Sam?" Bobby shouted, loping toward him.

Sam ignored him, speed-dialing Dean again. The call clicked immediately into voicemail, and Sam had to suppress the urge to fling the phone against the street and jump on it with both feet. "Fuck!" he hissed.

"Quitcher bellerin'." Bobby looked up and down the street. "You're makin' a scene, son," he murmured, pushing a calloused palm against Sam's shoulder.

"Dean's gone." Sam grabbed Bobby by the elbow and pulled him toward the motel room. "Shit." Dread was pushing at his chest, fear constricting like a steel band around his stomach.

"Calm down," Bobby sighed. "He probably just went for some food." But he glanced up and down the street, searching with concerned eyes.

"He's not answering his phone." Sam dialed the phone again, listening to it ring and ring. But then, over the sound of the wind, he heard a far-off sound, the electronic sound of a phone. Dean's phone. Sam honed in on the sound like a bloodhound, running down the street toward it, turning his head from side to side to hear better. "Dean?"

The sound grew gradually louder, until he spotted a sodden lump in the grass just outside a ramshackle gazebo, and his heart jumped into his throat. "Dean!" Sam sprinted and fell to his knees at his brother's side. Dean was facedown in the grass, soaked to the bone and still as death. Sam rolled him into his arms and Dean's eyelids flickered, showing only the whites of his eyes. "Shit…Bobby!" Sam scooped Dean up like a damsel-in-distress, cradling him to his chest, and stood.

Bobby was suddenly at his side, staring down at Dean. "Hold on a second, boy." He ducked his head to look at Dean's face. Bobby's eyes were hooded, suspicious. He scanned Dean, serious and solemn. "Damn."

"What?" Fear constricted Sam's throat and he did his best to swallow it back.

Bobby shook his head. "Let's get him back to the room. We don't need the townfolk seein' and wonderin' what's goin' on. Worse yet, they call the law." Sam immediately set out at a slow jog, doing his best not to jostle Dean, who was pale, still, and silent. Bobby hurried ahead, limping slightly as though the rain made his bones ache.

Sam shouldered open the motel room door and gently laid Dean across the bed. He pulled off Dean's boots and started stripping off his shirt, but stopped short. Bobby was standing on the bed with a can of spray paint in each fist, methodically painting a design. Painting a devil's trap.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sam asked harshly, though he knew full well what the older man intended. _No, it can't be. I know it can't._

"We don't know, Sam." Bobby never stopped painting, the symbols and patterns flowing freely as though he didn't even have to think about them. "We have to take precautions." A chill corkscrewed up Sam's spine and he had to force back a shiver.

"You don't really think…" He couldn't say the words. "I mean, he has the tattoo."

"You seen what that thing did to the tattoo last time it came knockin' on his door. I ain't convinced that it can't break through." Bobby's face was grim, and he shook his head. "This is bad, son." He ran a forearm across his brow, sweeping away the rainwater that was dripping from the bill of his hat.

Sam stood stock still, lost in thought, as Bobby finished painting the trap. He suddenly felt bone tired, too tired to be angry or scared or vengeful. Just tired. He slowly pulled off Dean's shirt, eyes pulled unerringly to the tattoo. There were long red gouges crisscrossing the tattoo now, scratches oozing blood across the burned skin as though Dean had tried to claw his own heart out.

"Bobby." Bobby didn't stop painting, but the muscles in his neck twitched. "So what if the tattoo doesn't stop it?" Sam clenched his fists, banishing the blood from his knuckles until they turned bright white. "If it can get by that, what else can it get by? Can it get out of the devil's trap? Can we exorcize it?"

"I don't know, Sam." With one last stroke, Bobby finished the trap and stepped down from the bed. He stared up at the ceiling, double-checking the sigils, unwilling to look in Sam's eyes just yet. He knew his own doubt would show. "This thing is worse than anything we've met before, 'bout as far off the reservation as we can get. Lore says he's second only to Lucifer, so if Dean is right and this is Baal…" Bobby stopped, his jaw tightening. "I don't know what we might have to do."

The words scared Sam more than he cared to admit, so he ground his teeth and put on a face of resolve. "No. We'll find a way to exorcize it, to kill it."

"I wouldn't count on it." Both men whirled to see Dean sitting cross-legged on the bed, dangling his amulet by his middle finger and smirking. "Good morning, boys."


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the delay on updating. It has been a crazy week. Please don't let that stop you from reviewing, hint hint. :)**

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Fear vied with rage deep down in Sam's gut as he stared at his brother's gruesome grin. Dean's eyes were blood-black, two pits of darkness that seemed to draw in the light. They weren't the familiar flat, dead black of a normal demon, however. They swirled and danced like clouds in a storm, and shone with a dark light that threatened to mesmerize Sam.

Sam raised his hand almost instinctively, seeking to suck out the filth that had hijacked Dean's body and to send it back to hell. But Dean gave a harsh bark of laughter. "Please," he snarled scornfully. "You could suck that demon bitch of yours dry and you still wouldn't be strong enough." An ugly sneer spread like a rash over his face. "You're too weak, just like you always have been." He flicked Dean's amulet away and it landed at Sam's feet.

Bobby was staring open-mouthed at Dean, looking rather like a deer in the headlights. "Let him go…" he said quietly, conviction noticibly missing from his voice. He knelt to pick up the amulet, never taking his eyes off of Dean.

Dean laughed again and Sam cringed. The sound was so unlike the brother he knew, full of hatred and pride and ill-intent. "You should just save your spit, old man, before you get hurt. As much as you want to think they are, these boys aren't your sons. They're not your blood. You have no say in this." Another smirk crossed Dean's face. "Besides, who is to say you wouldn't just kill them like you did your wife? May was her name, wasn't it?"

It was clear that the only thing stopping Bobby from leaping into the devil's trap to throttle the breath out of Baal was the fact that doing so would have a rather detrimental effect on Dean. His fingers clenched reflexively into white-knuckled fists and the muscles of his jaw worked as he ground his teeth. "You'd best shut up, you foul sonuvabitch," he whispered hoarsely.

"Or?" The question was loaded with menace. "These two aren't your family. You're the old guy who they let tag along because they don't want to hurt his feelings. You're washed up. Just face it, you thickwit."

"Stop it." Sam's voice was sharp with stress and rage. He shouldered Bobby out of the way, placing himself between Dean and Bobby. "Dean…" His throat went dry and the backs of his eyes began to sting with threatening tears. "I know you're in there. You have to fight this…"

Dean's gaze fixed on Sam's face, eyes narrowed and piercing. "Oh, yes, your brother is in here. Would you like to see?"

Sam's stomach turned a flip and he tasted bile in the back of his throat, for suddenly Dean's face changed. Dean's hazel eyes reappeared, full of fright and pain. His features contorted into a mask of agony, mouth working silently as he tried to speak. He was finally able to force out a word in only a whisper. "Run…"

Sam took a step forward, anger and fear driving him on, his brother's name caught like a lump in his throat. Bobby snatched him by the elbow and yanked him back just before he crossed into the devil's trap. He began to mutter in Latin, his eyes fixed on Dean's.

Dean gave a twitch and then his eyes flooded back to black as though his soul was retracting deep within. He sneered at Bobby and Sam shuddered involuntarily. He'd never seen his brother look so utterly evil, so completely soulless. There was no spark of Dean visible in his current expression. "Really?" His voice was full of contempt. "This boy's tattoo couldn't keep me out, and you think some piddly-ass exorcism rite is going to get me?" He barked an ugly laugh. "I'll hang each of your limbs from a different tree, you little shit."

The door banged open and all three whirled to stare as Ruby strode into the motel room. She looked Dean up and down, then quirked an eyebrow and quietly said, "Wow."

Dean fixed her with a stare of disdain, his lip curling slightly. "Your lap dog is here, Sam," he snapped, hate almost coming off him in waves. "Time for a cocktail, is it?"

Ruby snatched her knife from her belt and started toward Dean, a snarl marring her face. Sam stepped in front of her. "What the hell are you doing?" He tried to grab the knife from her but she twisted away, her shoulder bumping him back. "That's Dean, you think I'm gonna let you fucking stab him?"

"That's not your brother," retorted Ruby, gesturing toward Dean. "That right there will slaughter all of us without breaking a sweat, Sam."

"I'm going to eat your heart." Dean smirked menacingly, his icy gaze pinning Ruby.

"I'm not going to let you stab my brother," Sam snapped. "There's got to be another way…"

Dean interupted with a growl of impatience. "This is fun, kids, but I have lots to do and not much time." A twisted smile crossed his face. "Or maybe I have all the time in the world. But no matter."

Dean raised his hand, and to Sam's shock and horror, the floor began to rumble and shake. Bobby stumbled back and fell to one knee, unable to keep his feet. Ruby clutched the waistband of Sam's jeans, struggling to stay standing. Sam scrambled backward, trying to grab the knife from Ruby, but as he did a huge crack zigzagged across the ceiling, shearing through the paint of the devil's trap.

"Run!" screamed Ruby, pulling at Sam's arm and trying to drag him toward the door. "Run!"

"Dean!" Sam shouted, trying desperately to yank away from Ruby, but her grip was deceivingly strong, and she nearly pulled him off his feet. He saw Bobby scrambling through the door in a half-run half-crawl. As Ruby dragged Sam across the room, Sam caught a glimpse of Dean striding forward out of the trap.

Ruby yanked Sam out into the sunlight and they sprinted toward Bobby's car. Sam vaulted into the back seat and immediately turned to stare out the back windscreen. As the car engine rumbled to life and Bobby floored the accelerator, spitting gravel as he roared forward toward the street, Sam saw Dean exit the motel room. Dean watched the car speed away, then looked up with a grim smile, staring toward the sun.


	8. Chapter 8

**I have no excuse for how long it took to update. I'm a bad person... :( Please review, despite my shortcomings.**

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It was as though he woke in a dark room, isolated and completely alone. He opened his eyes but found no light, only darkness so total that he may as well have kept his eyes closed. He moaned and tried to stagger to his feet, only to find that, as far as he could tell, he didn't even _have _feet anymore. No hands, no feet, no fingers…Just a mind floating in an ink-black hell.

"Finally awake, young one?"

_No. No. No no no... _But for the lack of a mouth Dean would have screamed, terror jolting his soul at the sound of the deep, silky voice.

"You'd probably care to know that your brother has, once again, skinned out and left you behind." Baal gave a smug chuckle. "Not that it would come as a shock."

_Thank God. Thank God._

Another velvet laugh echoed in Dean's non-existent ears. "God had very little to do with it, I assure you."

_He got away._

"That's only temporary, don't you worry. He's only gained himself a few hours of life, at best."

Rage flooded Dean's consciousness, that searing white anger that blinded him in those moments where someone, or something, threatened his most important belongings. _I'll kill you if you touch him._

"Idle threats, young one. You hadn't the strength to keep me out. What makes you think that you could stop me from doing anything, now that I'm wearing your meat?"

_It doesn't matter. You lay one finger on him and I'll rip your head off and shit down your neck…_

Baal only laughed again.

_I'll hunt you to the deepest pits of hell and I'll make you pay in blood if you touch one hair on his head._

"Frankly, I don't see why you care so much. Your brother spent his whole life trying to get away from you, to deny what made you into a family. He's left you time and time again."

_Shut up._

"He's made it clear over and over that his life with you was never what he wanted. Even now he's trying to break away. You're holding him back, just like you always have."

_You're a liar. Just like all of them, all you say is lies._

"Am I? Or am I just saying the things that you've whispered to yourself in the darkest nights, in the quietest moments?"

_It doesn't matter. He's my brother. I won't let you hurt him. Never._

"How many times has he let you be hurt? How many times has _he _hurt you?"

_Stop it. Just shut up, SHUT THE FUCK UP._

"You know I'm telling the truth, young one. I'm not saying anything you haven't thought before. I know all of these things, you see. Your mind is open to me, and I know all the things that you've felt through your short years. I know how much you love your father, and how much you hate him for what he turned you into. I know how much you love your mother, and how much you hate her for leaving you. I know how much you love your brother, and how much you hate him for doing what you never could."

_Please. Please stop._

"You hate your brother because he had the strength to do what you never could."

_Please._

"He walked away."

_Stop. Please…just…please stop…_


	9. Chapter 9

**Again with the long wait on updates! What's wrong with my muse?! Help me!**

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Anger was pulsing with a dull throb behind Sam's breastbone, and his jaw muscles jumped as he ground his teeth around the roar of rage that he was dying to release. His fingernails were digging crescent welts into the flesh of his palm. Bobby and Ruby were both silent, staring ahead through the windscreen at the road that was flashing by, apparently lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, Sam couldn't contain himself any longer, and he punched the headrest of the seat with such force that even Ruby jumped. "We have to go back," he growled, leaning forward and poking his head into the front seat. "We're not leaving him." He gripped the pilling fabric of the seatback so tightly that his knuckles paled into rose and white wrinkles.

"Slow your roll." Ruby's voice was harsh and cold, and she wouldn't look at Sam. Her hand was resting on her knife, and one of her fingers twitched against the leather hilt. "If we go back there half-cocked, we'll get massacred."

Sam ignored Ruby and turned toward Bobby, turning the puppy-eyes power up to max. "Please, Bobby." He lowered his voice, a small part of him not wanting Ruby to hear. "Look. I know what Dean is going through. I remember what it's like to have one of those things inside you." He had to suppress a shudder at the memory of carrying Meg's filth inside his body, and of the things he while did under her control. The people he hurt. The man he killed. "I can't leave him. I won't."

Bobby's grizzled face was set with a grim scowl and he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "We're not leavin' him, boy. We're regroupin'."

"We don't have time!" Sam winced at the shrill note in his own voice, but the farther they drove down the road, the more distance they put between themselves and Dean, the more the desperation grew and pulsed inside him.

Bobby shook his head. "Much as I hate to credit your girlfriend here, she's right on one account. We'll get our asses handed to us on a silver platter if we go back there unprepared."

"He could be god-knows-where by the time we get 'prepared'," snarled Sam. "We have to…"

He was cut off as Bobby suddenly stood on the brake, bringing the Chevelle to a screeching halt and very nearly sending Sam through the windscreen. Bobby turned around, hooking one elbow over the seat, and fixed Sam with a steady glare. "I don't like this any more than you do, boy. But you listen to me, and you listen very close." He lowered his head, regarding Sam with such seriousness that Sam was cowed into silence. "I'm not gonna lose you too. We'll do what we gotta do to help your brother, but we're gonna do it my way. And my way is the smart way."

"Bobby, please…" Sam's voice was closer to a whimper than he would ever care to admit.

"I owe your dad and your brother a lot, Sam. I owe 'em my life. And I made your brother a promise." Bobby swallowed hard, his eyes suddenly slicked with moisture. "I promised him that whatever happened, _no matter what,_ I'd do whatever I had to do to make sure you stayed safe."

Sam started to protest, but jumped as Ruby whirled to face him. "Would you just shut the fuck up for one second, Sam?" she hissed. Bobby's eyebrows quirked up and then his eyes narrowed, betraying his clear distaste for being interrupted by_, oh, I don't know, a_ _demon-bitch-from-hell_. "Your crusty, inbred uncle is right. This isn't something you can just walk up and blow away. You've never met anything like this."

Something snapped in Sam and he pushed his face into Ruby's, nearly bumping her forehead with his own, and he glared into her eyes. "You have no say, Ruby…you've wanted to get rid of Dean since the moment you met him, and if you think for _one fucking second _that I'm going to let that thing have him, you're sadly fucking mistaken," he snarled. "You try to stop me and I will _end _you…"

"Stop!" Bobby barked, placing a palm against Sam's sternum and shoving him back against the seat. "This is gettin' us nowhere, and we're wastin' time." He turned and stared down Ruby. "I don't like it, but you're the one who knows the most here. You're gonna have to be the fount of knowledge."

Ruby's face changed, surprise widening her eyes, but then mistrust shut everything back down. "You don't trust me, old man," she huffed, turning up her nose.

"No, I don't, and you'd best get used to that. But the way I see it is, you're about the only one who can figure out how to kill this thing without killin' Dean." Bobby's face darkened. "But I'll tell you this, girl." He turned and looked Ruby dead in the eye, danger clear in his gaze. "If you do anythin' that makes me think you're hurtin' instead of helpin', I'll kill you myself. I promise you."

A corner of Ruby's mouth twitched with the threat of a smirk, but she just lifted her chin defiantly. "That would be a trick, old man." But she didn't continue, instead pursing her lips. "I do have an idea. But it won't be easy." She turned, tucking one leg up beneath her and looking into the backseat at Sam.

"Whatever it is, we'll do it," Sam replied, softening his tone. "It doesn't matter how hard it is, or what it costs us. Let's do it."

"Jesus, boy, you haven't even heard what it is yet," interjected Bobby, his disgust glaringly obvious.

Ruby ignored Bobby. "To be honest, it's going to depend more on Dean than on us. For a demon as high up the food chain as Baal is, a regular exorcism isn't going to cut it." She again caressed her knife, her fingers sliding across the hilt with an almost loving stroke. "For a demon like him, it all depends on the host. To give Baal an E-ticket back to hell, Dean will have to do the exorcism himself."

"What the hell?" Bobby spat. "What kind of stupid-ass…"

"This is your only option, old man," retorted Ruby. "Take it or leave it."

"How is Dean supposed to exorcize _himself?_" protested Sam. "That's not possible!"

"Have I ever lied to you before, Sam?" Ruby looked straight into Sam's eyes, her gaze searching him deep. "You have to trust me on this. This is possible, if Dean is strong enough."

Sam looked back at Ruby, at the face he had come to know all too well over the past lonely months, and a familiar, unwelcome hunger began to throb behind his eyes. He was silent for a long moment, and then slowly shook his head. "Okay." But somewhere deep inside him he sent up a silent prayer. _Please, God, don't let me regret this. _


	10. Chapter 10

**A couple orders of business...first, am SO sorry for the long wait on the update. I've had terrible writers block. Secondly, I am now answering all reviews on my livejournal page rather that Xanga. New link on my profile. And lastly climbs onto bully pulpit...I've been having a discussion with Zatnikatel (IMO the best writer doing SPN fics out there) about the lack of reviews in the SPN fandom on . When you write something that you're proud of, and you see that hundreds of people have read it but only like 3 have reviewed, it is very discouraging. It makes one wonder if people are enjoying one's work or if one should just hang it up. I'm not complaining, I'm really not...I just want people to be aware of something that many writers are struggling with. Do with it what you will. Falls off bully pulpit Carry on.**

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Sam's foot was tapping like a jackhammer against the base of Bobby's seat. Bobby ground his teeth, wanting nothing more than to smack the jitters out of that boy, but he just gripped the steering wheel more tightly, his rusted fatherly instincts creaking deep inside. He guided the car back toward town, the knot in his stomach slowly rising to settle in his throat. _Drivin' into danger when we should be runnin' like hell._

Finally he steered the car off to the side of the road, listening as the gravel crunched beneath the tires like tiny cracking bones. "All right, kids, time to plan this out." He slammed the gearshift into park and twisted to peer into the backseat at Sam. "Well?"

Sam shook his head. "We have to find him. If we can find him and keep Baal busy long enough to let Dean know what he has to do, maybe we have a chance." There wasn't a lot of conviction in his tone and Bobby sighed wearily.

"How are we going to find him?" Ruby screwed her face up in an expression of doubt. "He could be counties away by now."

"I can track his cell phone." Sam glanced at Bobby. "Please tell me you have some sort of laptop or something I can work on. Something not made of plywood and baling wire."

Bobby narrowed his eyes. "No need to be a snotmouth, son," he growled. "In the trunk."

Sam had to root around a bit, digging through piles of spilled rock salt and, strangely enough, peanut shells, but he finally found a battered old Dell languishing beneath a burlap sack that smelled of cat piss and mildew. He was mildly shocked when it blinked to life without having to be jump-started with the car battery. "Here's the bad news, guys." Sam had to force a smile. "Gotta call him to track the cell."

"Bad idea," growled Bobby, a sour look crossing his face.

"No choice." Sam dug his cell phone out of his pocket. He noted with a sense of disconnected disgust that his hands were shaking.

"What makes you think he'll even pick up the phone?" asked Ruby, leaning over Sam's shoulder to peer at the computer screen.

"No demon can resist the notion of tauntin' their prey," Bobby said gruffly. "It's their super villain weak spot." He glanced at Ruby. "No offense."

"Offense taken," Ruby replied, not bothering to even look at him.

Sam took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and thumbed Dean's number. A cold fist gripped Sam's stomach as he listened to the phone ring, then the line clicked.

"Well, well." Dean's voice was rich with amusement. "Isn't this unexpected? I figured you'd be long gone. That's what you're best at, after all, leaving."

Sam took a deep breath to steady his nerves. "I want to make a deal."

Dean chuckled. "I'm listening."

"It's me you want. I'll do whatever you want. Just let Dean go."

A laugh, loud and brash, burst across the phone line. "Conceited much?" Sam could hear the sneer in Dean's voice. "What makes you think I want you?"

"But…" Sam stammered, almost too startled to form any coherent words. "It's always been…"

"You thickwit," snarled Dean. "It's always been all about you. Always what Sammy wants, what Sammy needs." Sam had a sudden and uneasy feeling that these weren't Baal's words, but Dean's. "And if Sammy _doesn't _get what he wants he makes the bitch-face and raises hell until everybody just gives in so he'll shut the fuck up."

"Shut up," breathed Sam, wanting to shout but barely able to whisper.

"Oh, I know all about you, Sam. I know how you always wanted to run away from the family. You were embarrassed because you weren't Beaver Cleaver. Your family wasn't Father Knows Best, it was Father's Fucking Crazy. I know how you abandoned your brother because you were too fucking selfish to do the right thing by him."

"You're lying," Sam hissed.

"Am I? I got this information right from the source." A low chuckle rumbled in Sam's ear. "I know it all. I know all the things he never told you, all the times he bottled up the hurt because he didn't want to hurt _you_. You never cared enough to do that for him, though, did you." It wasn't a question. "You just puked your hate all over him, didn't care if you struck him to the bone."

"Shut up." Sam couldn't quite inject the proper hatred into the words, being as he was being slowly strangled by rage and fear and, deeper down, shame.

"Your brother knows that you didn't care enough about him to suck it up. He knows that you hated him for obeying your dad, for not backing you up." There was a long pause, a pause laden with menace. "And I'll do you one better. You ready for this one? He hates you for leaving."

Sam couldn't speak around the lump in his throat. Bobby took a deep breath, unable to hear what Dean was saying, but understanding that it was cutting Sam deep.

"He spent his whole life taking care of you and watching out for you, and you took off without even a thank you. You never even looked back." Dean gave a mirthless chuckle. "If you want to know the truth, he's relieved now. He can rest. He doesn't have to watch out for you anymore."

"You're lying," choked Sam. "He would die before he'd let you…"

Dean interrupted, cutting Sam's words short. "That's where you're wrong. For Dean, it used to be that death was at least an end. It was just part of the game, the end of the road when luck finally runs out. It was when he would finally get to rest, so it wasn't something to fear. But now? Now he's scared that death means a return downstairs, that it means going back to that pit where we clawed his flesh and sucked the marrow from his bones."

"No. He'll fight you, he won't let you do this. He's strong." Hot tears were stinging Sam's eyes and his breath caught in his throat.

"You're not listening, as usual. Listen to me, and listen very close. He doesn't _want _to fight. He's tired, and he knows that as long as I'm wearing his meat, he doesn't have to worry about having an e-ticket back to the fire." Dean laughed again. "I'm his insurance policy. Even he's not mule-headed enough to pass on that offer."

Sam blinked rapidly and looked down at the computer, but he was unable to read the screen. His tears just blurred the text into a smear of light. Ruby glanced at him, then elbowed him out of the way and bent over the computer herself. She gave Sam a grim-faced thumbs up, the look in her eyes unreadable. Without saying another word, Sam clicked his cell shut, his face pale and his jaw tight. Bobby reached over and squeezed his shoulder, but Sam shrugged away from the touch. "Let's go get this sonofabitch," he growled.

"Simmer down, son. Take a breath or two." Bobby glanced at Ruby with a look of dark mistrust. "You go in there with your dick swingin', you're gonna get it lopped off. We need to go smart."

"Bobby," started Sam.

"That thing will kill you, Sam." Ruby reached to touch Sam's elbow, but he jerked away from her hand.

"I don't care," he growled.

"Shut your yap for one fuckin' moment, you stubborn idjit!" Bobby's roar started both Sam and Ruby and they stared at him, openmouthed. "You may not care, but I fuckin' well do, and I'm ain't havin' it! We're doin' this my way, and if you don't toe the line so help me I'll hogtie ya and you'll take a little trip to Alaska in my trunk!" He glowered at Sam. "I ain't gonna stand by and watch you sacrifice yourself like your dad and your brother." He shook his head and repeated, "I ain't havin' it."

A new slick of tears glazed Sam's eyes. "We gotta get him back, Bobby." His voice was so quiet that Bobby could barely hear it, but he didn't have to. He stepped forward and gripped Sam's shoulders.

"We're gettin' him back, son. You just gotta trust me." He dropped his chin and caught Sam's eyes with his own. "We're gettin' him back."


	11. Chapter 11

**I've decided that rather than being all shame-faced about my slow updating, I'm going to start blaming other people. This chapter's scapegoat is Zatnikatel, whose A Killing Moon has kept me enthralled (her newest chapter was one of the scariest/sexiest SPN chapters I've ever read). Also- the Zep song mentioned here has nothing to do with the episode of the same name, it is used simply because it is my all-time favorite Zep tune. Thirdly, I have no beta, so all mistakes are mine alone. And finally, I own nothing. NOTHING. But please don't let that stop you from reviewing. :p**

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Ruby hoisted herself into the backseat of the Chevelle, bumping Bobby's shoulder with her ass. He gave a low grumble, which Sam thought sounded distinctly like _rassum frassum_, but the grizzled older man didn't turn around.

After a wilting look at Bobby, Ruby turned to Sam and rubbed her palm across his forearm. "He's too strong, Sam," she murmured against his ear, clearly trying to keep Bobby from hearing. "You can't beat him. Not without help." A hot wave rolled through Sam's stomach and his mouth suddenly started to water. "You've never faced anything like him before." Ruby slipped a flask into Sam's palm, closing her fingers around his. "It's the only way." Her eyes flicked forward as she glared suspiciously at Bobby.

Sam glanced at Bobby in the rearview mirror. If Sam had been watching closely, he would have seen the older man's shoulders tense and a muscle in his jaw jump, but Bobby didn't look in the rearview. He drove with his eyes on the road, as if looking ahead meant that nothing untoward, nothing all-fired-unnatural was about to happen in the backseat. Still, Sam turned away, trying to block Bobby's view with his shoulders as he tipped the flask to his lips. The blood, still thick and warm, swirled over his teeth and tongue, its metallic salty tang sparking his taste buds. The hair on the back of his neck prickled and he felt a tiny, delicious shiver. A surge like a flush of sex and adrenaline rushed through his stomach and he closed his eyes, falling into the feeling almost against his own will. It was all he could do not to moan.

"How do we find him once we get into town?" Ruby leaned forward into the front seat, clearly trying to distract Bobby's attention.

"My guess is that he's not even hidin'. He likes toyin' with us, and it's more fun if he can do it face to face. He likes to see the fear in people's eyes. 'Sides, he knows Sam would never really leave Dean behind." Bobby ground his teeth, pushing back a curse. "Still think this is a bad idea."

"Unless you've got a better one, this is all we've got." Sam wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, trying to capture any stray drops of blood that might have eluded him. He handed the empty flask back to Ruby, savoring the tingle he felt as his hand brushed hers, the glow of shared energy, the slow and steady throb of pleasure in his veins.

Bobby guided the car into town, his eyes darting from side to side as if he expected Dean to pop out of the trees like a spring-heel jack and maul them all. The streets were deserted, strange for the middle of the day, and Bobby wouldn't have been surprised to see a tumbleweed go lazing by.

"Bobby, there," Ruby barked, pointing off to the side. The Impala was parked out in front of a run-down dive bar. On the sidewalk lay a body, sprawled with the awkwardness that only the dead can achieve. Blood spread around it, congealing and clotting in the midday sun.

Sam barely waited for Bobby to stop the car before he was out, sprinting toward the bar. He vaulted the body, not even registering its presence until his foot slipped in the slick of blood, and he dashed up to the front door. Sam could hear a low bass rumble and a wailing harmonica from inside the bar. _When the Levee Breaks. _He had no doubt now that his brother was inside, and the music drew him in like a foreboding siren song. He snatched his pistol from his waistband, sprinted up to the door and smashed it open, nearly putting his fist through the flimsy wood.

The bar was dimly lit, with the light of the sun almost completely filtered out by the film of cigarette smoke that soiled the dingy windows. A still form was crumpled in the fetal position next to the door, a pool of blood spreading around his head like a dark halo. Another body was slumped in a booth by the window, brain matter spattering the wall beside him.

A jukebox in the corner was blaring at top volume, the bass line thrumming in Sam's chest. The bartender, a young man who could only be described as unfortunate looking, stood white-faced behind the bar. Weak-chinned and watery-eyed, his face had the doughy softness of a boy who hadn't quite lost all his baby fat. He was trembling. Sam's eyes narrowed. "Why are you still here?" he hissed, his gaze darting around the bar. "Where is he?"

"He…he won't let me leave," the bartender stammered, his voice quivering with fear and barely-contained tears. "He sa…said he ain't makin' his own fuckin' drinks and if I keep 'em comin' he won't kill me." A tear finally escaped and tracked down his chubby cheek, settling in a deep dimple at the corner of his mouth.

"Where is he?" Sam repeated, and the bartender raised a shaking hand to point toward a door at the back of the bar.

"They're in…in the pool pit…"

"They?"

"He's got Zak…" Another tear rolled down the bartender's face and he made a choking, blubbering noise in the back of his throat. Sam lifted his finger to his mouth, _shhhing _the young man, and moved toward the back of the room.

Ruby glanced back at Bobby, who was bringing up the rear, sweeping the room with his shotgun. "Get Tubby out of here," she ordered quietly. Bobby snarled noiselessly at her, his lip curling with disgust, but he reached across the bar and grabbed the bartender by the bicep, leading him to the door and giving him a shove out into the street.

Sam stopped by the closed door and waited for Ruby and Bobby to join him. His heart was pounding, sending adrenaline singing through his veins along with the euphoric high of Ruby's blood. All his senses were pinging…he could hear the birds outside above the howl of Jimmy Page's guitar, he could smell Bobby's sweat over the stink of spilled beer, he could taste the copper scent of blood in the air, and _damn _if it wouldn't be the best feeling in the world if he weren't on his way to maybe kill his own brother.

He felt Ruby and Bobby step up behind him, felt Ruby's energy even stronger in his blood now that she was closer to him, pressed against his back, her breath hot on his shoulder blade. He lifted his hand, counting backward from three on his fingers, then wrenched open the door quick as a flash, ducking backward to allow Ruby and Sam to cover the room with their weapons.

Only it wasn't a room. There was only a rickety staircase, twisting away down into the dark. Bobby couldn't suppress a grumble of frustration. "Pool pit, my ass. More like pool dungeon."

Sam didn't answer, just lifted his pistol and started down the steps. Ruby followed close behind, with Bobby bringing up the rear, stepping backward down the stairs while covering the open door above them with his sawed-off. Up in the bar, the Zeppelin song ended and the jukebox clicked once, then the creepy opening riffs of I Put A Spell On You by CCR drifted down the steps behind them.

As he neared the bottom of the stairs, Sam could make out another door, light outlining the edges from behind. He glanced back at the others, making sure that they sensed his intention, and then leapt from the third step, hitting the door square with his boot and sending it flying completely off its hinges.

The room was small and packed with pool tables, with wobbly round bar tables lining the perimeter of the walls. Dean was lounging at one of the bar tables, his arm looped around the waist of a terrified-looking young woman who was sitting stock-still on his lap. As Sam burst into the room, Dean looked him up and down once, a small smirk tugging at his mouth.

"Well lookie, lookie. Hey, little brother."


	12. Chapter 12

**(Let's Go Blue!) We interrupt this football game to bring you a new chapter....please please review...**

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Sam felt frozen to the spot, though he could feel Ruby and Bobby standing just behind him. Dean's eyes, two depthless and swirling black pits, were fixed on him. Now that Sam was face to face with his brother, no, the monster that wore his brother's body, the plan seemed ludicrous, a suicide mission. Hopeless.

"I figured you were going to show up sooner or later," said Dean. His voice was almost a low purr. "But your timing is off. You could have at least let me finish up here." He bared his teeth and nipped at the girl's collarbone, hard enough that she jumped and squealed, "Jesus!"

"Oh, Zak, honey, he can't help you now," Dean crooned into her ear, never taking his eyes off of Sam. "Speaking of whom, do you still pray, Sammy?" The name dripped from Dean's lips with syrupy sweetness, and he slid one hand around to softly stroke Zak's throat. "Or does that demon blood that you suck down boil in your stomach if you try?"

"Let her go." Sam had to work to keep a quiver from his voice.

Zak was staring at him with wide eyes, tears tracking down her cheeks to drip into her lap. Dean caught one in his palm and regarded it for a moment, then licked it delicately from his skin. He chuckled low in his throat. "You don't know much about bargaining, do you." He nuzzled Zak's neck, brushing it with a whisper soft kiss, but he never took his eyes off Sam. "You would have to have something I want in return." A cigarette smoldered in a grimy tin ashtray at Dean's elbow. He plucked it up and took a long, languorous drag, twisting his face into an exaggerated rictus of pleasure. Blowing out a stream of smoke, he smiled. "The fact is that I already have what I want." He fanned at the smoke with his hand.

"But why?" Bobby piped up from behind Sam. He had never stopped covering the rear, but he looked back over his shoulder to glower at Dean. "Why do you want him?"

"Oh, you humans are so caught up your own little dramas that you just don't see the big picture." Disgust creased Dean's face. "Words can't say how much I loathe humans. The smell of your blood, your breath, your sweat, your greasy skin; it makes me ill. You're nothing but lumpy sacks of skin, fat, and gristle. Slaves to your basest appetites, you gorge yourselves on food, sex, drugs. You are weak and pitiful and pathetic and you have no right to be happy or peaceful." He gave a huff of self-righteous annoyance. "But really, I'm putting up with having to wear this meat because I intend to be the Big Dog here."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Ruby's eyes narrowed and her grip tightened on her knife.

"As if you don't know," Dean leered, then turned his gaze back on Sam. "I'm not the only one, you know. There are others, Big Ones, who are making plans for this world. Just ask your girlfriend, there. But I can stop them, and when I do…" He chuckled. "Well, this is going to be my playground."

"I don't understand," Bobby muttered under his breath.

"Of course you don't. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." Dean smiled, still staring at Sam. "That literary quote came from your brother, believe it or not. He's not as dim as you think he is, after all. Yes, he's still in here. He stopped screaming right about the time that I killed that cop over at the motel, but he's still here."

That statement was like icy water splashed over Sam's face, jolting him out of his stunned stillness. "That's good," he murmured. "Then let me just say this…" Ruby and Bobby both tensed behind him. "Dean, the Exorcizamus, you have to do it yourself!" The words came out in a rush and as they did, Ruby darted around Sam and splashed Dean in the face with holy water.

Dean roared, falling backward in his chair. Zak, screaming, fell atop him and they both landed on the floor in a heap, smoke rising from Dean's scalded skin. Sam leapt forward, grabbing at Zak and trying to pull her out of harm's way, but Dean locked onto his wrist with a grip so strong that Sam cried out in pain. Dean's eyes were wild, and he looked for all the world like he was going to knock Sam's teeth clean down his throat.

"I'm going to kill you slow, you little piece of shit," snarled Dean, yanking Sam forward and closing his fingers around his throat. "I'm going to throttle you and drink your blood…"

Ruby's kick connected solidly with Dean's temple and he toppled to the side with a grunt. Sam scrambled backward, gasping for air, screaming, "Dean, you have to do the exorcism yourself! You have to do it!" Sam grabbed again for Zak, who was curled into the fetal position and sobbing uncontrollably. He tried to pull her to her feet but she was limp and dead weight in his hands. "Dean, do it!"

Ruby splashed Dean again and he howled, but he rolled to his feet, quick as a hiccup, and darted forward, catching Ruby in the midsection and lifting her like a linebacker. They both went smashing into a pool table, sending balls and cue sticks flying. "I'm going to eat your heart, you bitch," growled Dean, his teeth bared like a cornered animal's. His fist crashed against Ruby's jaw and she sagged backward across the table. Dean bent low over her, intent on tearing her throat out with his teeth, but he did not see her fingers close around a billiard ball. With a scream, she swung and smashed the ball against Dean's eye. He fell back, landing hard on his ass, and Ruby staggered up, now clutching a pool cue. She reared back and swung the stick, breaking it across Dean's shoulder.

Dean raised a hand and flung Ruby to the side, his face a mask of rage and pain. He turned toward Sam, bringing his other hand up, and Sam ducked instinctively, knowing all the while that doing so was useless. But instead of feeling the crushing blow of the demon's power, instead his ears were set to ringing by the deafening blast of a shotgun. Dean tumbled backward and Sam screamed, terrified. He whirled to stare at Bobby, who was saying something, shouting, but Sam couldn't hear the words above the buzzing in his ears.

_Rock Salt. _Sam sagged back with relief as he read Bobby's lips, then turned back toward Dean, who was already struggling back to his feet, his chest peppered with chunks of salt like tiny diamonds. Blood was pouring from a gory gash below his eye, painting his face with warrior stripes, and he snarled at Sam, "I'm done playing with you fuckers…" He lifted both hands and Sam felt his body fly back through the air like a leaf in the wind. He slammed into the wall with enough force to knock the air from his lungs, and stars swam across his vision. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bobby, prone on the wooden floor, a pool of blood spreading out from his head.

Sam tried to struggle against the force pressing him to the wall, even though he knew it was useless. Dean stalked up to him, his face marred by blood and an ugly sneer. "It was a nice try, Sammy. But you had to know it wouldn't work." Dean tilted his head, like a scientist examining a new species. "You're actually a bit lucky," he mused. "Had I not been distracted by that little piece of ass over there," he gestured over his shoulder toward Zak, "I would have already cut this tattoo out of your brother's chest. It's been a bit of a nuisance...lets your brother be a little more assertive than I care for." He fingered the tattoo. "You'd have never even made it through the door."

Dean reached up and gently touched Sam's throat, stroking his fingers across the pulse point. "You should thank me, really. By killing you, I'm stopping some _very _bad people from coming back upstairs." He smiled sardonically. "What can I say, I'm a giver."

"Dean… Exorcizamus," Sam ground out, still trying to wriggle his way free, but he was pinned like a butterfly, helpless.

But as Sam stared helplessly at his brother, something flickered in Dean's eyes. For a brief second, a mere blink in time, the clear hazel of Dean's irises shown out from behind the blackness of Baal's, and hope flared in Sam's chest. But as quickly as it had happened it was gone again, and Sam was staring back into the midnight depths of a demon's gaze.


	13. Chapter 13

**I know this is a long time coming, and short on top of it....transition chapters are a BITCH to write, and RL is kicking my ass about now...PLEASE review...pwease?**

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The low, sexy strum of John Paul Jones' bass guitar hummed in the speakers like the rumble of distant thunder. Sun spilled through the naked branches of the trees that stretched over the road, twining their branches like fingers and creating an arch that closed overhead like a tunnel, dappling patterns on the snow._

Dean…

"_Got no time to for spreadin' roots, the time has come to be gone…" His head was muzzy, thick and heavy like a whiskey buzz, and he blinked slowly, fighting off sleep, battling back oblivion._

Exorcizamus...

_He squinted and shook his head…so tired he was hearing things. A sudden gust of wind buffeted the car, pushing it toward the bank of trees along the fog line, and he tightened his grip on the steering wheel, easing back toward the middle of the road._

"_I can't find my bluebird; I'd listen to my bluebird sing but I can't find my bluebird…"_

You have to do it yourself...

_Another blast of wind tore control of the car from his hands and he skidded sideways, pinwheeling into a snowbank, wincing at the crunching of ice against the body of his baby. The music went suddenly silent as the engine coughed and died with a throaty groan. He cursed and kicked open the door, only to step out into shin-deep snow. Fuck. Gotta walk now, and so cold out there he could piss an icicle…_

You have to…

_His head snapped up as he heard his brother's voice in the wind. Sam? He whirled in a circle, searching for Sam's lanky form amid the worsening swirl of falling snow. Sammy? _

_A fist of dread curled in his stomach and he tucked his chin into his collar against the wind and his fear. Sam, where are you? He started to stagger forward, walking tangle-legged through the drifts, arms outstretched against the growing wind._

Dean, do it!

_He spun again, searching against the worsening snow, staring into the whiteout for something, anything, that would lead him to his brother._

...eat your heart, bitch...

_A sudden flash of heat scalded his face and he staggered backward, raising his hands in a reflexive gesture to ward off the pain._

Dean...

_Sammy! Sammy where are you?_

Exorcizamus...

_Exorcizamus...exorcizamus...he dropped to his knees in the snow, his thoughts fuzzy with pain and with the increasing cold, searching for a long faded memory. Sam? Suddenly an image strobed into his mind, the image of the tattoo etched over his heart, the twin to his brother's mark. _

Dean…

_In an abrupt flash of clarity he saw his brother, bloodied and pinned against a wall, pinned by his own hands,_ _Jesus, strangling the life out of Sammy, Christ no.._

Exorcizamus…

_I hear you Sammy…I hear you…Exorcizamus te…te…shit, shit, how does it go…omnis immundus spiritus, om..um…omnis satanica potestas…_

_Just hold on, Sammy…I'm coming…_


	14. Chapter 14

**Yeesh, I suck. I am the WORST about updating. Had to bribe myself with booze and ice cream...can't have either until this was done! Please review...it encourages more efficient updates. :)**

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The eyes were all he could see…swirling ebony pits in his brother's eyes, dark orbs that sucked in the light and swallowed it. Even as his lungs burned with need and his fingers scrabbled uselessly against the strong, calloused hands that were clasped tightly around his throat, all he could see were the eyes.

Sam's vision began to spiral into a pinpoint, swirling down into the depths of the demon's gaze, and his struggles began to weaken as his body succumbed to hypoxia. But then, for a whisper of a second, just a breath in time, Dean's grip suddenly loosened ever so slightly, his fingers easing away from Sam's windpipe, and Sam was able to suck in one tiny gasp of air. As soon as the oxygen hit Sam's lungs, his body snapped to attention and of its own accord planted its foot smack dab in Dean's crotch, and Sam learned that apparently even demons cannot resist the application of a size 13 steel toe to the family jewels, because Dean crumpled backward with a breathy groan of rage and pain.

Sam fell sideways away from Dean, bumping down hard on his hip and sucking wind. He kicked out again, connecting with Dean's shoulder and shoving him further away, but Dean's groans began to escalate toward a growling roar of rage, so Sam rolled to his knees and flung his body atop of Dean's, doing his damndest to pin his brother to the floor.

Seemingly from nowhere, Ruby dropped onto Dean's legs with a feral snarl, and with a shriek of hate she jammed her knife to the hilt into Dean's thigh. Dean screamed and bucked underneath Sam, his face contorted with rage and pain and, Sam thought, fear. Dean managed to lever his body up enough that he could hook a finger through the loop of Ruby's earring and he ripped it out, tearing the flesh of her earlobe. Ruby screamed and roughly twisted the knife in Dean's leg, sending a gout of blood blossoming across the thigh of his jeans.

As Dean continued to struggle beneath him, Sam felt Bobby's weight fall across his own back, further trammeling Dean. "Say it!" gasped Bobby as blood gushed from a scarlet gash in his lower lip.

Sam began to recite, the words spilling from him without thought, "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion infernalis adversarii, omni legio…" As he spoke he felt Ruby convulse behind him. She gave a heaving retch and scrambled to her feet, stumbling toward the door, leaving her knife impaled in Dean's leg.

"Come on, Dean!" Bobby was almost nose to nose with Dean, screaming in his face. "Come on, boy!"

As Sam continued the exorcism, the words coming so quickly that they ran together in a rush, he felt Dean go rigid beneath him, as though every muscle was contracted to its tearing point. Dean's face was contorted, his jaw clenched and eyes squeezed shut so tightly that tears began to leak out of the corners, trickling down to soak the hair above his ears. Sam felt a rush of hot tears slick his own eyes but he didn't even try to stop them, just continued to recite around the lump in his throat.

But then, as he stared down into his brother's face, he saw Dean's lips begin to move, just ever so slightly. His jaw remained clenched tight as a vice and no sound escaped him, but his lips were moving in voiceless words. Sam leaned closer, still chanting, turning his ear toward Dean's mouth, straining to catch any noise, anything that could tell him that his brother was there, was fighting.

"'mnis 'munds…'piritus..."

Hope bloomed like nuclear blast in Sam's chest and he screamed at Bobby, though Bobby was mere inches away, "He's doing it!"

Bobby fumbled in his pocket, still pressing his full weight against Sam, and snatched out a flask. He unscrewed it with his teeth and splashed Dean in the face with a liberal dose of holy water. Dean screamed as steam rose from his skin and a splotchy burn blazed scarlet across his cheek. "He's mine!" he howled, writhing beneath Sam. "I'm going to tear your throat out!"

Bobby splashed Dean again, producing another scream, and Dean bucked so hard that he nearly threw both Sam and Bobby free. Ignoring the danger, Sam leaned close, nearly touching Dean's ear with his mouth, and whispered, "Come on, brother…Come on…" He picked up where he left off with the exorcism, chanting the words that came as natural to him as the Lord's Prayer. Bobby began to recite along with Sam, his gravelly voice rough with fatigue and emotion.

Dean stiffened again, his limbs tight as with rigor, and his lips began to move again, quickly now. His eyes flickered beneath his closed lids and his eyelashes trembled against his pale skin. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down to mingle with the tears in his hair. "Come on, Dean…" Sam breathed, smoothing a hand over his brother's forehead, wiping away the sweat and the tears and the blood.

"Exorcizamus te…omnis immundus spiritus…" It started as only a whisper, hardly audible above the heaving of Sam's own breath, but slowly, so slowly it began to grow stronger. "Omnis satanica potestas…"

Sam couldn't suppress the scream in his chest. "Yeah, Dean! Yeah! Dean, come on!"

"Omnis incursion infernalis adversarii…"

But then with a terrifying violence, Dean's back arched so strongly that both Bobby and Sam were knocked clear, falling backward in a tangle. Dean opened his mouth and emitted a howl so terrible, so piercing and full of pain, that Sam couldn't stop a shriek of his own. A haze of black smoke, more thick and dense than any Sam had ever seen, began to pour from Dean's mouth, swirling up toward the ceiling and circling there like a demonic hurricane. The sound of Dean's scream was suddenly drowned out with a cacophony of voices, thousands of voices, all shrieking and howling with agony and terror, nearly deafening Sam. He covered his ears with his hands and cowered back against the wall, trying to press himself as far away from as possible from the sound and the fury of the demon-cloud. He squeezed his eyes shut, terrified, convinced that his life was about to end.

But then, sudden as a storm on the high plains, everything went silent and still.


	15. Chapter 15

**No excuse. No excuse for the delay in updating. Please don't let that stop you from reviewing...**

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Sam eased one eye open, not convinced that the worst was yet over. His ears were ringing in the sudden silence, and his hands were trembling with a palsy of adrenaline and delayed fear. He dragged a palm across his mouth and it came away bloody, so he spat a few times, trying to purge the taste of copper from his tongue.

Bobby was lying beside Sam in a crumpled heap, his chest heaving with labored, panting breaths. He met Sam's eyes and managed a slight nod, a weak affirmation that he was alive, if not particularly well, and flipped a shaky thumbs-up.

Sam turned toward Dean, who was laid out flat on his back with his arms and legs akimbo. Blood bloomed on his t-shirt from where bits of rock salt had broken the skin. His face was an ashen gray and glimmered with a sheen of sweat which trickled down to soak his hair, and his eyes were rolled back so only a slivered half-moon of hazel was visible. Sam crawled to him, ignoring the pain in his hip, and leaned low over his prone brother. "Dean," he whispered, and touched his forehead to Dean's. "Wake up, bro, it's over…"

"Get away from him!" Sam's head snapped up and he found himself looking down the dual-barrel of a cannon-sized shotgun. He ran his gaze up the barrel and into the tear-streaked, doughy face of the bartender. "Back off!" A flare of anger rushed through Sam's chest and he pushed himself between the shotgun and his unconscious brother. The bartender looked to the side to Zak's sobbing form. "You okay, honey?"

The girl was huddled beneath a pool table, hands clasped over her ears. She hiccupped once or twice, her voice thick with tears and terror. "Tony, get me out of here," she whispered, and she curled into the fetal position, burying her face in her hands. "Help me, please…"

Anger tightened Tony's face into a mask, his lips curling up to show his teeth and his brow furrowing to hood his eyes. Sam shifted position slightly, searching for any opening to disarm the bartender while still protecting Dean. "Don't move!" Tony's voice went shrill and he jabbed the shotgun toward Sam, driving him back against Dean's body.

"Tony, it's over. It's over and she's safe and you're safe." Sam tried to keep his voice steady and low, soothing. "We're going to get out of here and you'll never see us again. Everybody is safe."

"He killed Deputy James, he killed Sam Magee! He killed Tom Masner, his brains are all over the fucking wall up there!" A tremor of rage ran through Tony. "He terrorized Zak, he threatened to KILL me! He ain't walkin' out of here! I've already called the State Police, and they're on their way!"

"Look, man, just listen. We're leaving. It's over. All you have to do is go help Zak, and let us get out of here. It's all gonna be fine." Sam held up both hands in a gesture of compliance as he slowly stood. "Nobody else needs to get hurt here today."

"Let you leave? You're trying to help this guy escape, and he murdered my customers, my friends! I don't even know who you are!" Tony's hands started to tremble and a fat tear dropped from his chin.

All the fear and anger of the past days suddenly bubbled up in Sam's chest and he gave way to it. "I'll tell you who I am…I'm somebody you do NOT want to fuck with. So listen to me, and listen very close," he hissed, glaring at the bartender. "We're leaving. I'll go through you if I have to. One more dead body makes no never mind to me." Tony's only response was to tighten his finger on the trigger of the shotgun. "So knuckle up, bitch," Sam snarled, stepping closer to Tony. "Pull the fucking trigger."

Tony's face blanched pasty white, and his tongue darted out to pass over his upper lip. "I'll do it. Don't make me do it."

Sam narrowed his eyes and leaned closer in. "Do it."

Tony's eyes hardened at the challenge and he pressed his lips together into a thin, determined line. But at the very moment that Sam thought he had called the wrong bluff, a beer bottle shattered on Tony's skull and he dropped like a sack of rocks. Ruby stood behind him, the broken neck of a bottle in her fist and her face twisted with loathing. "Ugh, civilians," she muttered. She moved toward Sam as if to hug him, but he turned from her and knelt at Dean's side.

"Come on, Dean, it's over. Wake up, now." Sam leaned close, searching Dean's face for some sign of consciousness, but the only sign of life Dean gave was his breath softly wisping over the skin of Sam's cheek. Sam laid his palm on Dean's forehead, pushing back the sweat soaked hair. "Come on."

As if he had heard Sam's words, Dean's eyelashes fluttered once or twice, and he gave a little sighing moan. One eye softly drifted open, independent of the other and he squinted in the light, blinking muzzily. He poked out the tip of his tongue to wet his cracked lips, and then breathed out a ragged and nearly inaudible, "Shit."

Sam barked a relieved and slightly hysterical laugh. "You're not kidding." He looped an arm under Dean's shoulders and helped him into a sitting position. Dean groaned and then was wracked by a vicious cough as his body remembered the trauma of the demon smoke. Sam gripped Dean's shoulders until the spasm passed, then helped Dean to his feet even as Dean was still gasping for breath. "You okay? I can carry you if I need to."

"Shut up, Massengil," wheezed Dean. "Let's just get the fuck out of here…out of this fuckin' town, this fuckin' state…"

"You okay, boy?" Bobby staggered up to Dean, holding his ribs. "Are you…you know, you?"

"I'm the best me that I can be." Dean coughed again, wincing. "Though I could do with a drink. Or four." Despite his bravado his knees started to buckle and he sagged against Sam. Sam wrapped an arm around Dean's chest, steadying him.

"We need to bolt, boys," growled Bobby. "Trouble's comin'. We need to get gone before the law comes." Dean nodded and shrugged out of Sam's grasp. He staggered slightly, then squared his shoulders and straightened his spine, willing his body into submission. Bobby glanced at Sam, and then started after Dean.

After a laborious climb up the rickety stairs, Dean pushed open the door to the bar, but then stopped short with a sharp intake of breath. Sam snatched the pistol from his waistband and pushed past Dean, alert for danger, but the bar was empty. There was only splattered blood and broken bodies and the smell of death; the carnage that Baal had left behind. Sam turned back to Dean, confused, but the sadness in his brother's eyes told him all he needed to know. "Come on, Dean." He gripped Dean by the shoulder and propelled him out into the street, out into the sunlight.


	16. Chapter 16

Dean collapsed into the passenger seat of the Impala and pressed his palms against his eyes until his head began to throb in protest of the pressure. Sam glanced at Bobby and Ruby, and jerked his thumb toward Bobby's car. They both scowled but didn't argue as they climbed into the Chevelle. "Meet you in Charring," Bobby growled out the window as he pulled past Sam. The tires spit up gravel as he floored the accelerator to haul ass out of town, his exhaust belching smoke.

Sam turned back to Dean, only to find him staring stone-faced at the dead man sprawled on the sidewalk in front of the bar. "Stop it," Sam said sharply, drawing a blank gaze from Dean. "Don't go there." He jogged to the driver's side, folded himself into the car, and gunned the engine. He reversed swiftly, fishtailing in the gravel, then slammed into drive and accelerated into the street with the shriek of tires.

The roar of the engine was the only sound. Dean leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes tightly. Sam glanced over at him and his stomach clenched. Dean's face was pale, flecked with blood and rough with stubble. The gash in his forehead had clotted over, and a purple crust of blood ringed one nostril.

Sam tightened his jaw. "So are we going to talk about this?"

"Nope." Dean didn't look at Sam, just leaned forward and rummaged in the glove box until he dug out a packaged wet-nap, and he set to scrubbing the blood from his face.

"Dean…"

"Sam." The word was a warning.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Fine. I'll talk then." Dean drew a breath to protest so Sam charged forward. "I've been there. I remember."

"Sammy, please." Dean's voice was weary, ragged.

"I remember what it's like. And you have to remember that it's not your fault. Those people back there, that wasn't you." Dean didn't answer, just continued methodically cleaning his face. "You didn't kill them, Dean."

Dean crushed the napkin in his fist and flung it onto the floorboard. "Would you please just shut the fuck up?" He clenched his hands. "I'm not hashing this over with you. I've seen and done worse that that back there." He blanched and shut his mouth with a snap as though he had said more than he intended. When he spoke again his voice has softened. "Please, Sam. Please just leave it."

Sam ground his teeth, simultaneously angry at Dean's stubbornness and grieved at his obvious guilt. He was quiet for a long moment, forcing back all the words he wanted to say. "You're a pain in my ass, you know that?"

"Yeah, ditto." Dean stripped off his t-shirt and ran his fingers over his chest, occasionally digging out rocks of salt with his thumbnail. Finally he sighed. "Look, Sammy, you know me. I just want to leave this behind. I want to forget about it. Talking only keeps it in my mind, and talking won't bring any of those people back." He swallowed against the sudden rush of bile creeping up the back of his throat. "And it just reminds me…" He stopped, swallowed again. "It reminds me of the shit I saw downstairs. I just want to forget." He turned away from Sam to stare out the window at the trees flashing by. When he spoke again his voice was so quiet that Sam wasn't even sure he had actually spoken. "I don't think I'll ever be able to."

Sam had to blink back sudden hot tears, and he found it hard to speak around the lump in his throat. He could only manage two words. "I'm sorry."

Dean turned to him, startled out of his reverie. "For what?"

"For everything. For how we grew up. For leaving. For not watching out for you. For not saving you from hell, for everything you went through down there. For you not ever having a normal life."

Dean's brow furrowed and he winced as the gash over his eye cracked back open. "Listen to me, Sam. Not a single one of those things is your fault." He swiped his hand across his forehead, smearing the fresh blood. "I made my choices. The consequences are mine, and so is the blame."

"I just wonder sometimes how much more we'll have to take," Sam admitted. "How much more will we have to _give_?"

Dean closed his eyes and wearily rested his head against the back of the seat. "And if we'll ever be able to rest."

Sam swallowed hard again, weighed whether to speak. Finally, he murmured, "Thanks, Dean."

Dean didn't open his eyes. "What for?"

"For fighting, not giving up. I know it would have been easier to just give in." Dean didn't reply, didn't even look at Sam, but a muscle in his jaw ticked. "Just thanks, is all," muttered Sam awkwardly.

Dean reached across and lightly punched Sam in the arm. "Enough talking, you pussy. Let's just get out of here. I never want to see this fucking town again." He leaned forward and fished a pair of sunglasses out of the glove compartment and slipped them on, effectively hiding the emotion in his eyes that threatened to betray him.

Sam looked to the road ahead and stepped on the accelerator, just as determined as Dean to put a million miles between them and what had come before.

* * *

**Many thanks to all who have reviewed. I've not been great about timely updates here, so thank you for hanging in with me.**

**My next multi-chap comes as a challenge from Zatnikatel, and will involve some history from her story The Woods Are Lonely, Dark, and Deep and its sequel, The Killing Moon. Head over there and read them; they are EPIC, not to mention award winning. (Woman, it's like I'm your pimp...shouldn't I be getting kickbacks here?)**

.net/s/4954718/1/The_Woods_are_Lonely_Dark_and_Deep

.net/s/5231870/1/The_Killing_Moon


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